Carrion Crown

Game Master Lictor Fedryn Mannorac

Ardon was born into a family of no small means in this city of Caliphas, and from a young age it was said that he had a gentle heart and an inquisitive mind. It was hardly a surprise, then, when he entered the field of medicine, eager to help those around him and unravel the mysteries of the human body. In the early days of his career he was loved by his patients, but his insistence on treating those who needed it most often resulted in patients who could not pay for their treatment, and his fortune began to dwindle.

On top of that, his human friends and his patients began dying around him, and all of his knowledge could not prevent it. He grew morose, wondering what the purpose of his studies were if everyone he treated was still going to expire in the blink of an eye. He began to become less of a doctor and more of an anthropologist, observing and cataloging human behavior in a quest to find meaning in his work. Was there any point to what he was doing? He became more and analytical, and when he did treat patients, he was coldly pragmatic about the affair, his bedside manner non-existent.

He began to leave Caliphas to observe other peoples and cultures, and it was during this time that he met Professor Petros Lorrimer. They enjoyed a collegiate relationship, the professor at the time being interested in the rituals and customs of the less civilized races of Ustalav. Ardon accompanied the professor into the field in an attempt to research a primitive tribe of Kellids, and apart from undercooked food and sleeping on rock, it was going well. One evening, though, the professor must have said something or done something that invoked the ire of a tribesman, and he came in with an axe. He was quickly restrained as wiser members of the clan understood it was only a mistake, but Ardon and the Professor were encouraged to leave. On the journey back to Caliphas, however, things took a turn for the worse, and the Professor's wound began to fester. Ardon did not have the supplies he needed to treat the wound on hand, and, in desperation, he consulted Lorrimer's notes on the Kellid rituals and reached out to that tribe's barbaric patron, entreating it for the power to save his friend. Something answered. In the end, he was able to share the burden of the infection, allowing them to survive the journey and receive proper treatment.

Ardon never revealed to the Professor what happened - Lorrimer himself had been delirious at the time and had little memory of the event. Since that time, though, the elf hears disconcerting whispers in his sleep, and the decidedly atheist elf has begun to worry about the state of his soul. He has begun doctoring again, though he tries to avoid relying on his strange new powers more than necessary. He has grown more pragmatic and hyper-rational, having seen enough death that it is all he seeks to prevent. He still seeks to help others, believing in the potential that life brings with it, but has dropped most pretenses of amiableness.

After seeing so many people in his life die, he was surprised at how affected his was by the news of Petros Lorrimer's death. With his work in Caliphas taking it's toll on him, though, he has decided that he needs this opportunity to get away for a bit, and to pay his respects to an old friend.

Ardon wants to help help people first and foremost - that remains his chief motivation in life. However, he's lost most of his youthful idealism, and takes a fairly pragmatic approach in such dealings. He no longer believes he can save the world, and has accepted that sometimes the most he can do for someone is mitigate their suffering. He believes in the potential of living things, and hates to see a life ended, but he will on occasion perform merciful poisonings on patients who have little time left. He's seen enough that he's not shy around blood or barbarism, a fact that disheartens him, as he feels his own humanity may be slipping away.

Ardon is also focused on others, usually thinking little of his own health or well-being. A driven man, he often neglects all luxuries and sometimes even sleep when he has a goal to accomplish. Truth be told, he prefers to sleep as little as necessary. Ever since he made the pact to save Lorrimer's life, he is plagued by night terrors, though he can never remember them - he simply wakes each morning with a feeling of dread, and vague memories of dark whispers. His abilities are something that he still doesn't understand, not like he does medical theory. As such, he prefers to use standard methods to help patients, regarding his spells and other abilities as a last resort.

Ardon is a rail-thin elf with pasty skin and sunken eyes. He has the look of a man grown old before his time, and exhibits little of the youthful quality attributed to his race. He moved with precise, deliberate action, and tends to slouch slightly. He favors simple but respectable attire - usually a white shirt, grey breeches, and a simple black vest. His clothes are well-made, and were probably nice once, but today most of his wardrobe is frayed and faded. When he travels, he is usually burdened by a heavy backpack, and makes certain to arm himself for the road. He carries a longsword, as is traditional for his people, though given his light frame he favors a crossbow when violence is necessary. Utility over aesthetics is the rule that dominates his attire in all things, and in the end, he presents the image of a man who's not put together quite as well as he could be.

A Kellid barbarian... the worst kind of 'people' according to some. Sil started what was otherwise going to be a short brutal life of orcs, demons and undead. Silaedru was born under portents and the sign of the bear. Though he was born with the dark hair of other Kellids, his eyes are a bright, bright blue, of those touched by fate. His doom is to be great, either in success or failure, the oracles of the tribe couldn't tell, and as such began to work against him. The risk of his failure hurting the tribe was to great when compared to his possibility of success.

His tribe traveled near the northern edge of the civilized lands, and often traded and even stayed in cities during the worst blizzards, rather than face them in tents. He often followed his father and the other warriors on trips into the cities and has always admired technology and culture.

He is not the son of a chief, and that means he is nothing but a warrior in his tribe. Already a man at an age when most civilized cultures would consider him a child, he took part in the normal activities of the tribe, hunting, fighting, and trying to make a name for himself. At this point in his young life, Professor Lorrimor stopped by the the tribes encampment with a small escort, and was able to get audience with the elders. During his stay of a few days the Professor shared many stories of the outside world, most of them from other parts of Ustalav, but a few from even beyond that. After collecting the information he needed, he left gifts for the tribal elders and departed. Sil, of course, being a young warrior only got to listen to the stories and admire the gifts of fine craftsmanship that the elders and older warriors received.

It was almost two years later, when out scouting for his tribe he came across the Professor at a set of standing stones, perhaps a dozen miles from the tribes current encampment. Sil hadn't forgotten the Professor, though he wasn't sure that the professor remembered him as more than one of many eager young people listening to his stories. After greeting the professor, Sil was asked what he knew of them and if he knew what they were for. He knew a few stories, but being from a rather superstitious tribe he would not have ventured into the stones had the professor not been there.

The attack happened without warning, a small handful of orcs had managed to get fairly close to the stones without being noticed and charged for slaughter or capture. It was a close battle with quite a few of the Professors men injured or killed, and one of Sil's mates horribly wounded. The Professor decided to head back to a major city very quickly in order to try to save as many of his men as he could, and recommended that Sil take his wounded companion back to his tribe for attention. The Professor gave Sil two things in return for his help that day. A small lucky charm, and word that the stones themselves were cursed and for spilling blood in them, even in self-defense Sil could be haunted by spirits.

Sil stands some 6' even and is heavily muscled. He wears a variety of skins and tanned leather sewn together into rugged clothing and a bear skin cloak that protects against the harsh weather. His dark hair is rather long and pulled into many small braids woven through with Zoics, evil eyes, and charms, one of which is from the Professor. He has yet to capture any crafted metal weapons, and so still carries clubs till he can earn his metal. He gained the name of Bear after coming back to camp with a bearskin. He claims to have fought and killed it, though a certain group of his opponent’s claim he merely found it dead, and skinned it.

He know he has a great doom upon him. He believes that he can be a great hero of legend and not renown failure as the oracles of his tribe are wont to believe. The warning from the professor has made him highly suspicious though, and he tends to try to avoid magic during combat if he can help it. From his lack of crafted weapons he has learned to use almost anything he can get his hands on, or just his hands if he has to. He wants allies that will stand at his side and fight with him, even as his tribe would. Strength to him is defeating the enemy, though using magic to do so is questionable... perhaps they were just not strong enough or lucky enough to resist it...

Oleg was raised in Grayce (a small town bordering Lastwall).
His father Pavel was a farmer who drowned in a boating accident on the river Path.
Oleg and his many brothers and sisters were split up and sent to various orphanages and relatives.
As fortune would have it, Oleg was sent to the orphanage run by the local Church of Iomedae.
He was amazed at the stories of Iomedae growing up and later he took up the mantle as a servant in her honour.
While on an errand as a new initiate, his group was set upon by a force sent from the Garden of Lead.
It was his first encounter with unliving foes and the experience was frightening, a fiery spectre leading flaming skeletons.
Oleg fought and defeated three of the skeletons and turned just as the spectre struck down his mentor.
The spectre sneered at Oleg before moving to engage him. Raising its ghastly sword it swung at him.
Oleg managed to call upon the aid of Iomedae to strike it down, thrusting his sword into it even as it struck him in return.
Everything went black.
Other servants of Iomedae brought Oleg back to the Church in Grayce, where Oleg almost turned into a spectre himself, if not for their prayers and magic.
This is where Oleg first met Professor Lorrimor. The professor wanted to know details about the spectre that Oleg had fought and slain.
Oleg kept in touch with the professor, corresponding with him over the ensuing months until his death.
Freshly recovered, Oleg traveled to Ravengro to attend the professor's funeral service.
The professor had mentioned that he was investigating a mysterious cabal and en route Oleg wondered if the professor had met his end by them.
There are sinister forces at work in Ustalav and Oleg will find the truth one way or another.

Oleg is gallant and courageous. His encounter with the force from the Garden of Lead traumatized him. He lost his mentor and his dreams were dark as his soul wavered in the realm between dark and light. His optimism is returning, but he still greaves, the wounds haven't fully healed. He wants to distract himself from it by making certain the Professor didn't come to an untimely end and focuses on that task. He's also motivated to find some of his other brothers and sisters.

Oleg stands 5'10" and weighs about 190 lbs. He's well toned and in good health. He wears a chain shirt and wields a long sword and light steel shield. His thoughts and his expression are dour, porting the weight of his recent experiences. A smile is quick to appear when warranted. He has no scars, but his left arm is slightly marred where the spectre struck him, a remnant of its negative energy.

OLEG VOLCHENKO
Male Human (Varisian) Cleric 1
LG Medium Humanoid (Human)
Init +0; Senses Perception +4
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DEFENSE
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AC 15, touch 10, flat-footed 15. . (+4 armor, +1 shield)
hp 9 (1d8)
Fort +2, Ref +0, Will +6
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OFFENSE
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Spd 30 ft.
Melee Longsword +4 (1d8+1/19-20/x2) and
Special Attacks Sun's Blessing
Cleric Spells Prepared (CL 1, 1 melee touch, 0 ranged touch):
1 (2/day) Shield of Faith (DC 15), Protection from Evil (DC 15), Bless
0 (at will) Light, Create Water, Stabilize
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STATISTICS
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Str 12, Dex 10, Con 10, Int 10, Wis 18, Cha 13
Base Atk +0; CMB +1; CMD 11
Feats Channel Smite, Guided Hand
Traits Courageous, Subject of Study: Undead
Skills Acrobatics -3, Climb -2, Escape Artist -3, Fly -3, Knowledge (Religion) +4, Ride -3, Sense Motive +8, Spellcraft +4, Stealth -3, Swim -2
Languages Common, Varisian
SQ Aura (Ex), Cleric Channel Positive Energy 1d6 (4/day) (DC 13) (Su), Cleric Domain: Glory, Cleric Domain: Sun, Spontaneous Casting, Touch of Glory (7/day) (Sp)
Combat Gear Chain Shirt, Longsword, Shield, Light Steel;
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SPECIAL ABILITIES
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Aura (Ex) The Cleric has an aura corresponding to his deity's alignment.
Channel Smite As a swift action, you may channel positive energy and if you hit an undead creature, that creature takes an amount of additional damage equal to the damage dealt by your channel positive energy ability. Your target can make a Will save, as normal, to halve this additional damage. If your attack misses, the channel energy ability is still expended with no effect.
Guided Hand With your deity’s favored weapon, you can use your Wisdom modifier instead of your Strength or Dexterity modifier on attack rolls.
Cleric Channel Positive Energy 1d6 (4/day) (DC 13) (Su) A good cleric can channel positive energy to heal the living and injure the undead.
Cleric Domain: Glory Granted Powers: You are infused with the glory of the divine, and are a true foe of the undead. In addition, when you channel positive energy to harm undead creatures, the save DC to halve the damage is increased by 2.
Cleric Domain: Sun Granted Powers: You see truth in the pure and burning light of the sun, and can call upon its blessing or wrath to work great deeds.
Courageous +2 save vs. fear.
Spontaneous Casting The Cleric can convert stored spells into Cure or Inflict spells.
Subject of Study: Undead Professor Lorrimor approached you as part of his studies, as he had heard that you had survived a recent encounter with a strange monster or had another fateful encounter. Interested in the conditions of the run-in and the means by which you avoided
Sun's Blessing (Su) +1 to channel positive energy's damage to undead.
Touch of Glory (7/day) (Sp) Grant +1 to a CHA-based skill or ability check.

MORT DECAY CR 1/2
Male Human (Kellid) Druid (Blight Druid) 1
NN Medium Humanoid (Human)
Init +1; Senses Perception +6
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DEFENSE
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AC 17, touch 11, flat-footed 16. . (+4 armor, +2 shield, +1 Dex)
hp 13 (1d8+4)
Fort +3, Ref +2, Will +4
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OFFENSE
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Spd 20 ft.
Melee Heavy Shield Bash +0 (1d4+4/20/x2) and
. . Scimitar +4 (1d6+4/18-20/x2) and
. . Unarmed Strike +4 (1d3+4/20/x2)
Special Attacks Touch of Darkness 1 rounds (5/day)
Spell-Like Abilities Touch of Darkness 1 rounds (5/day)
Druid (Blight Druid) Spells Known (CL 1, 4 melee touch, 1 ranged touch):
1 (2/day) Entangle (DC 13), Obscuring Mist, Faerie Fire
0 (at will) Stabilize, Detect Magic, Guidance
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STATISTICS
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Str 18, Dex 12, Con 12, Int 8, Wis 14, Cha 8
Base Atk +0; CMB +4; CMD 15
Feats Blind-Fight, Druid Weapon Proficiencies, Improved Unarmed Strike, Toughness +3
Traits Deft Dodger, Making Good on Promises
Skills Acrobatics -4, Climb -1, Escape Artist -4, Fly -4, Handle Animal +3, Knowledge (Nature) +5, Perception +6, Ride -4, Stealth -4, Survival +8, Swim -1
Languages Common, Druidic, Hallit
SQ Druid (Blight Druid) Domain: Loss, Spontaneous Casting, Vermin Empathy +0 (Ex)
Combat Gear Hide, Scimitar, Shield, Heavy Wooden; Other Gear Holly and mistletoe, Spell component pouch
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SPECIAL ABILITIES
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Blind-Fight Re-roll misses because of concealment, other benefits.
Druid (Blight Druid) Domain: Loss Associated Domain: Darkness
Improved Unarmed Strike Unarmed strikes don't cause attacks of opportunity, and can be lethal.
Making Good on Promises At some point in the past, Professor Lorrimor did you a favor under the condition that he would someday call on you to repay it. After he came to your aid, however, you never saw nor heard from him again, leaving you with a sense of unending anticipa
Spontaneous Casting The Druid can convert stored spells into Summon Nature's Ally spells.
Touch of Darkness 1 rounds (5/day) (Sp) With a melee touch attack, target suffers 20% miss chance
Vermin Empathy +0 (Ex) Improve the attitude of a vermin, as if using Diplomacy.

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The little cottage was far from the world, far from other people, far from war and murder and famine. Mort and Helene had the forest and the mountains and the lake, and they built their little cottage themselves, and they were deliriously in love. Together, they shared a love for nature that made them content to be far from other people, living comfortably off the bounty of the land, feeling it so powerfully that Mort felt it was almost a kind of magic.

Then Helene was pregnant, and it was a kind of magic. Somehow they were more in love than ever before. She was more beautiful than ever before, and Mort felt like he could walk on water, knowing he was going to be a father!

But when her time came, there was something wrong. There was no midwife, no doctor, no old matrons to help. Just Mort, and she bled and cried, and there was nothing he could do. For a day and a night she struggled, and then the baby was born. It was a boy, and the cord had wrapped around his neck. Mort cut it and freed the head, but his son never took a breath.

Helene only lived a few minutes longer. Mort wanted to die as well, but he knew Helene would never forgive him if he took his own life. He put the baby in her arms, and wrapped them in a blanket. Exhausted, he sat down on the little wooden bench that he had made a year earlier. He looked at them, laying there, so beautiful in death.

He doesn't know how long he kept his vigil, but he knows that a man came, a traveller, a professor, and brought him water and food. Mort watched Helene and the boy as the flies came, and the maggots, and the rot. This was the true power of nature, he realized. The mountains and the lake were beautiful and sweet, and eternal. This rot and corruption was a true transformation. This was the magic he had almost touched, and now he felt it in him.

He couldn't say when the professor had left, but he remembered promising the man a favor. Helene and the baby were just bones, by then, still laying in the bed, for Mort had never dared to move them. He could feed himself now, catching fish in the lake and watching the remains disappear.

Eventually, the message came from the professor, saying that it was time to repay the favor. Of course, the messenger said Mort had been named in the professor's will, but Mort understood. In life, the professor would have had many friends to share his time with. In death, who else but Mort could he turn to for friendship?

Though there was sorrow when he kissed his wife and son goodbye, promising to return to them when he had fulfilled his obligation. He knew they would understand, for hadn't the professor been with them during their transformation?

Name: Maurice Class:Paladin (Favored-HP)
Race: Aasimar Lvl:1
HP: 13 BAB: +1
Gender: M Size: M
Age:19 Hair: Blonde Eyes: Blue
Align: LG Init: +1
Fort: +4 Ref: +4 Will: +4
Spd:30/20
AC: 16/17 FF: 15 Touch: 11

Str: 12(+1) Dex: 12(+1) Con: 14(+2) Int: 10 Wis: 14(+2) Cha: 14(+2)

Weapons:
Glaive +2 1d10+1 x3 Slash Reach
Light Mace +2 1d6+1 Bash

Skills: Diplomacy (1+2)3 Know-History (1+2) 3

Feats:Lightning Reflexes

Special Abilities:
Aura of Good Darkvision 60'
+2 WIS +2 CHA Native outsider
Deathless Spirit: 5 Resistance vs. negative damage, Does not lose HP with negative level, +2 Save vs death effects, energy drain, negative energy spells/abilities of necromancy school
Immortal Spark +2 Know-History +2 Save vs death effects, cast lesser age resistance 1/day.
Detect Evil 60'
Smite Evil 1/Day +2 Hit +1 damage

Traits: Subject of Study (+1 damage undead)
Deft Dodger +1 Reflex save

Equipment:
Glaive
Light mace
Scale mail
Light wooden shield
Backpack
Blanket
Waterskin
Holy water (1)
2 days rations
Wooden holy symbol
Flint&Steel
2 Sunroads

66Gp

Maurice never really knew his father, just an image of a smiling face, a tender hand on his head and a warm feeling that made him feel happy. His mother was always there of course, loving and warm. A priestess of Shelyn who raised him in the temple when she was not working in the orphanage.

Maurice grew into the faith but was never once for really serving in the clergy and liked marching with the guards as they made his rounds and so he became a sort of page to the town guard and would no doubt join the millita when he became old enough.

However, Maurice was assulted by a shade, an undead creature that was attracted to his special nature and wanted to drain him dry. Maurice survived the deady touch as his in-born talents flared to life and he fled back to the temple. Professer Lorrimor heard of the attack and spoke with the priests and Maurice, being fascinated with your resistance tot he undead at such a young age. The professer gave him some tutoring on the creature and you took these lessons to heart, becoming determined to protect others and himself from such creatures in the future. This lead him to start training to become a paladin.

Learning of the Professer's death, Maurice decided to head out to pay final respects.

Maurice is a slender but still sturdy young man with very bright blue eyes and close cropped blonde hair. He wears a new suit of scale mail and wields the favored weapon of his church, a glaive

Maurice is ernest, but still nervous about heading off into the world like this for the first time, he often reads through his prayer book trying to find inspiration on how to figure out any doubts he has and hopes he will make his teachers proud

"The Bear" CR 1/2
Male Human (Kellid) Barbarian (Invulnerable Rager, Urban Barbarian) 1
NG Medium Humanoid (Human)
Init +4; Senses Perception +4
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DEFENSE
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AC 16, touch 12, flat-footed 14. . (+4 armor, +2 Dex)
hp 13 (1d12+1)
Fort +3, Ref +2, Will +0
--------------------
OFFENSE
--------------------
Spd 30 ft.
Melee Club +5 (1d6+4/20/x2) and
. . Club +5 (1d6+4/20/x2) and
. . Club +5 (1d6+4/20/x2) and
. . Greatclub +5 (1d10+6/20/x2) and
. . Unarmed Strike +5 (1d3+4/20/x2)
Ranged Shortbow +3 (1d6/20/x3)
--------------------
STATISTICS
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Str 18, Dex 14, Con 13, Int 9, Wis 10, Cha 8
Base Atk +1; CMB +5; CMD 17
Feats Improved Unarmed Strike, Throw Anything
Traits Chance Savior, Freedom Fighter
Skills Acrobatics +0, Climb +2, Craft (Weapons) -3, Escape Artist +0, Fly +0, Knowledge (Local) +3, Perception +4, Ride +4, Stealth +0, Swim +2
Languages Common, Hallit
SQ Controlled Rage (Ex), Controlled Rage: Constitution, Controlled Rage: Dexterity, Crowd Control (Ex), Heart of the Fields +0: Craft (Weapons) (1/day), Rage (5 rounds/day) (Ex)
Combat Gear Arrows (20), Club, Club, Club, Greatclub, Lamellar, leather, Shortbow; Other Gear Alchemist's Kindness, Bag, Waterproof (empty), Bedroll, Candle, Chalk, 1 piece, Fire Carrrier, Jug, clay, Rations, trail (per day) (3), Rope, hempen (50 ft.), Torch (2)
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SPECIAL ABILITIES
--------------------
Chance Savior
Controlled Rage (Ex) May gain lesser bonus split as desired, but without normal drawbacks.
Crowd Control (Ex) If 2+ foes adjacent, +1 to hit & AC. Unslowed by crowds & bonus to intimidate.
Freedom Fighter +1 trait bonus to attack rolls with improvised weapons.
Heart of the Fields +0: Craft (Weapons) (1/day) 1/day, ignore an effect that would make you fatigued or exhausted. +1/2 character level to the selected Craft or Profession skill.
Improved Unarmed Strike Unarmed strikes don't cause attacks of opportunity, and can be lethal.
Rage (5 rounds/day) (Ex) +4 Str, +4 Con, +2 to Will saves, -2 to AC when enraged.
Throw Anything Proficient with improvised ranged weapons. +1 to hit with thrown splash weapons.

Velasar is a Tiefling Ranger that hails from Cheliax. His mother died when he was but a youngling, so he was raised by her husband - his human father - Crix from that time forward. Crix, a local hunter and legend due to the trophy creatures he killed and placed in the town hall, had no qualms at all about raising a tiefling child. He knew well that any living creature was merely a product of their environment - teach a tiefling child to fear or join with his demon heritage, they will be a monster - but so will any human dwarf or elf. Teach them instead to respect their heritage and embrace the qualities that make a person stronger while rejecting those that do not, and a well-structured young man comes of age instead of a monster.

It was this philosophy that Crix taught Velasar, and Velasar learned well. Over the years, Vel was taught how to track, hunt, and survive in the wilderness for days at a time on his own. He learned the arts of the bow as well as the sword.

And one day in the forests of the Barrowood, he learned how to love the life of an adventurer. His father and he went out for a typical track and hunt session, following some dire elks when a crash from behind them came and a shadowy blow sent his father sailing ten feet to his side. Vel turned, drawing his blade and found the red-yellow eyes of an owlbear staring at him, clawed arms raised for a potential killing blow. Vel reacted with instinctive speed, stabbing hard into the beast's chest and without pulling the sword free, tumbled backwards. As the owlbear screamed and pulled the sword from his chest, Vel pulled his bow, loaded two heavier arrows his father had made for him and let loose. The double-arrow shot lacked any semblance of aim, but he wasn't going for precision...just for pain. One arrow lodged in the creatures leg, the other the opposite hand. Screaming in agony and pain, the creature roared, turned, and barrelled back through the forest the way it came. That day, Vel had not panicked, instead saving both his and his father's life.

That was over six years ago; for the last few months he has been in the Worldwound, searching for information about his heritage and true father, respectfully curious about such matters, but finding little more than challenging hunts.

And then the magical sending came to him from Ustalav's Immortal Principality, summoning him to be present for the funeral and will-reading of Professor Lorrimor, a fellow explorer and good friend to him and his father....

The 21-year old hellspawn known to most as simply 'Velasar' stands at around 6'2" and weighs around 180 lbs. He keeps himself as toned/fit as possible, wanting to be in peak condition for any hunt, tracking, adventure or...miscellaneous mercenary work...that comes along. Velasar's skin is mainly the typical maroon-red of many 'pure' tieflings, but he has a slight gold hue that seems to almost iridescently shimmer from his body at times. This, coupled with rare gold-iris eyes, and he is both common and unique among his people.

Like most tieflings, he bears a mark of his heritage; in Velasar's case, he bears two such marks - the first of which are small but noticeable claws that he can mentally retract and slide out from over his normal finger nails (something that is actually fairly painful for him to do). The second mark are protruding spikes that point backwards (as if they were aerodynamic) from his forearms. Normally this would pose a problem for wearing armor and such, but his heritage has allowed him one benefit fairly uncommon among his race - his forearms are protected by a coat of thick scales, providing him with a bit of natural armor where his vesitigal spikes are.

Some adventurers are storytellers or braggarts, some are charmers of women...some simply get the job done, say little and leave others alone.

And then there's Velasar.What one needs to know about Velasar is that he is concerned about two things in life: getting his job done through the best means possible, and the conviction....to not have conviction.

For some time now, Velasar has taken a zen-like view of the world, doing what he thinks is good, instinctive, natural. He looks at things like prejudice, compulsion, good and evil, law and chaos and scoffs at them. Not that he can't be passionate...but only if it is...natural.

From that worldview comes a man that tends to be less patient and more condescending since many others do not share his view - even other neutral parties tend to dislike him;Velasar is just not a very charming person. Strong, dextrous, smart...yes. A lady's man? A friend to all? The guy you want at a Taldorian ball? No...but he is a man you want fighting next to you, for what he lacks in general conviction, he makes up for in passion for adventure.

You can see a strikingly handsome man somewhere in Mort's past. He is still a young man, and he still has a strong jaw, high cheeks and brilliant green eyes. His cheeks have sunken, though, and there are dark hollows under his twitchy eyes now. He has grown gaunt and spidery, and his dark hair is combed back from his too-high forehead. While he is tall, he seems to have shrunk in on himself. All of this might be overlooked, were it not for the scent of decay that he never quite seemed to be able to scrub away.

Mort had never really liked being around people, but he has changed. He finds the company of others attractive now, even comforting, though most prefer to keep him at a distance. His moods change quickly, and he can go from being angry and aggressive to kind and sensitive to sullen and distant quite abruptly. His sense of humor is at best morbid and at worst repulsive, for there is nothing funnier to him than rot.

The little cottage was far from the world, far from other people, far from war and murder and famine. Mort and Helene had the forest and the mountains and the lake, and they built their little cottage themselves, and they were deliriously in love. Together, they shared a love for nature that made them content to be far from other people, living comfortably off the bounty of the land, feeling it so powerfully that Mort felt it was almost a kind of magic.

Then Helene was pregnant, and it was a kind of magic. Somehow they were more in love than ever before. She was more beautiful than ever before, and Mort felt like he could walk on water, knowing he was going to be a father!

But when her time came, there was something wrong. There was no midwife, no doctor, no old matrons to help. Just Mort, and she bled and cried, and there was nothing he could do. For a day and a night she struggled, and then the baby was born. It was a boy, and the cord had wrapped around his neck. Mort cut it and freed the head, but his son never took a breath.

Helene only lived a few minutes longer. Mort wanted to die as well, but he knew Helene would never forgive him if he took his own life. He put the baby in her arms, and wrapped them in a blanket. Exhausted, he sat down on the little wooden bench that he had made a year earlier. He looked at them, laying there, so beautiful in death.

He doesn't know how long he kept his vigil, but he knows that a man came, a traveller, a professor, and brought him water and food. Mort watched Helene and the boy as the flies came, and the maggots, and the rot. This was the true power of nature, he realized. The mountains and the lake were beautiful and sweet, and eternal. This rot and corruption was a true transformation. This was the magic he had almost touched, and now he felt it in him.

He couldn't say when the professor had left, but he remembered promising the man a favor. Helene and the baby were just bones, by then, still laying in the bed, for Mort had never dared to move them. He could feed himself now, catching fish in the lake and watching the remains disappear.

Eventually, the message came from the professor, saying that it was time to repay the favor. Of course, the messenger said Mort had been named in the professor's will, but Mort understood. In life, the professor would have had many friends to share his time with. In death, who else but Mort could he turn to for friendship?

Though there was sorrow when he kissed his wife and son goodbye, promising to return to them when he had fulfilled his obligation. He knew they would understand, for hadn't the professor been with them during their transformation?

Darkness. The foil of the civilized races. Their bane in this world. No; Darkness is its own world. A world of chaos, danger. A world of fear. A world where you can’t see your enemies. A world where you not only become the prey, but you become prey to something you can’t see, can’t know, and, all too often, can’t fight. Darkness is the world of monsters, criminals, and terrors.

Darkness is my world.

--Variziel Duskpetal, the White Shadow

Variziel Duskpetal, the vigilante who calls himself “the White Shadow,” rarely speaks of his life before taking up his mantle. “I didn’t know then what I do now,” is all he says, most often. Though his past was not riddled with tragedy, a painful enough experience (the murder of his wife) drove him to visit the monks of the Monastery of the Veil. Those who knew Variziel before this journey haven’t heard from him since (Without a Past)

Since this journey, Variziel has made his home in a smaller city, where he spends his days as a; at night, however, he dons his armor and gear and stands watch, guarding innocents from both criminals and the other threats of a night in Ustalav. To date his most memorable experience has been rescuing a man named Lorrimar (Chance Savior). Yet as of late, there have been fewer criminals (and there were never too many to begin with), and Variziel has begun to wonder what to do with his life.